


The Moon Never Wanes

by cryptidprotection



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Character Study, Gen, Hair, Hurt No Comfort, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidprotection/pseuds/cryptidprotection
Summary: Daisy and her relationship with her hair, and how it corresponds with the hunt.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, The Hunt & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	The Moon Never Wanes

**Author's Note:**

> Heya!!! This is my second tma fic but like. Ugh I'm so emo over this stupid ex cop werewolf.  
> Note! I do not condone anything Daisy (or Basira) did, and acknowledge them to be incredibly complex characters. However, I do like picking apart characters who view themselves as monsters BC of things they did.  
> Anyways I hope u enjoy :')

A low buzz echoes in the archive bathroom. Daisy's skin is still dirty and her hair is matted, but it curls at her cheek and brushes against the back of her thighs. Her hands shake as she presses the device to her head and begins to move it.

It takes longer than she expected, but she watches with wide and shaky eyes as hair slowly floats to the ground. It faintly reminds her of snow, and then the thought of worms slipping through soil coils in her gut and she decides to focus on not cutting her skin.

When it's gone, she runs her fingers through what's left. It's prickly almost and it tickles against her fingers. A smile cracks on her face, and suddenly there are tears streaking down her cheeks. It mixes with the dirt, and creates mud on her skin. Daisy can only lean over the sink and cry.

-

"Its- You cut it." Daisy looks up from her spot on the ground to see Jon hovering in the door of his office. He looks cleaned up, and his hair curls around his neck. It's grown longer since his hospitalization, but she thinks he looks better with it long.

"Yeah," she replies blandly, slowly twirling the closed pocket knife between her fingers. A silence washes over them before Jon sighs softly and shuffles in, resting at his desk chair. Daisy is turned away, but she can hear him moving papers.

"Jon?" Her voice seems too soft to be her own, and it fills her with momentary fear before Jon makes a noise that he heard. She takes a moment, eyes staring hard and cold into the carpet. 

"I want to get better. I dont- I dont want to hurt anyone anymore. I'm tired of destroying, Jon. I'd like to protect, even if I don't think I can anymore. Do you..." She trails off, and her clawed hands clenched into fists. "Nevermind."

A low buzz fills her mind for a moment, and she turns her head to look back at Jon. His eyes are dotted with flecks of bright green, and his hair seems to fluff up more than it should. His face is concerned, and suddenly he looks normal again. Daisy wishes she could get rid of the feeling of being watched.

"I... I think you could. Be that, that is." Jon says, stumbling over his words like he's trying to run a marathon in heels. Daisy grumbles, and moves closer to his desk. She sees him tense, but she just leans her head against the chair.

"Just read." She grumbles. And he does. It's a low mantra that fills her mind with enough nonsense to keep her occupied. Keep her thoughts drifting.

-

The hunt. She misses it. The claws and the teeth and the blood and the _meat _. Her hair has grown longer, and it gets caught on sticks and is easy to be yanked on by anyone wanting a fight.__

__Her snarls and howls fill the night sky, and the moon never wanes. Her jaw disconnects when she feasts, and she can hear their pitiful screams. She destroys and it feels good. She is no guard dog and is no puppet hung by the silly strings of morality. She is a beast of no regards who feasts as she pleases and does as she wants._ _

__A beast fit to be a king._ _

__Yet something deep in her shouts to go and find them. Rip the world apart until she can see them. Greying brown hair and soft jumpers and dyed hair and hijabs. People she swears she knows but can't quite visualize, because she can imagine the blood and the meat and the flesh and the food. It storms her mind like vicious packs of hounds and extends into her limbs and teeth until she destroys and hurts._ _

__Because it's in her roots and core and The Hunt, lucious in its forested arms, reminds her of her place. Her home is snarls and claws and blood. And it will never be anything more_ _


End file.
